


The Most Obvious Crush and how it became more than that

by solisurya



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Liverpool F.C., M/M, crushing Fernando, shy Fernando
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-03 12:02:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13340862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solisurya/pseuds/solisurya
Summary: Fernando is dealing with a lot. Moving to Liverpool hasn't been easy. Making matters worse are: his increasingly distant relationship with his girlfriend and his growing crush on his captain. How will he make sense of his life again? Things will get a bit hot and heavy in the later chapters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first full length fanfic, so please be kind. I will update as and when I get time. Constructive criticism is welcome and much appreciated.

The moment Fernando Torres landed at John Lennon International for the very first time ever, he knew that this was going to be different from what he was used to. Much, much different. The weather, for one. Not that it was pouring the moment he landed, like some of his Premier League playing Spanish teammates had warned. But it was just _so grey._

The vibes, the atmosphere, _the very air_. Unlike Spain, where it was sunny and bright and warm and red and yellow and orange, he thought nostalgically. In the car on the way to Melwood, he was surrounded by Liverpool employees, all smiles, hoping to make him feel welcome. He didn’t understand a word they were saying. And he used to be good at English when he was in school. _Clearly not good enough_ , he thought wryly. A sudden feeling of panic engulfed him. Was he truly planning on shifting here for the foreseeable future? It was all so strange. The people, the language, the mannerisms. Christ, they even drove on the wrong side of the road!

They made it to Melwood at last. A different kind of fear suddenly reentered his mind. He had been worrying about this the whole flight. What if Liverpool deemed him unfit for the team? Any moment now, he was going to step into a physio’s room and have his body checked. His ankle had been troubling him for the past few days and he did not want to lose out simply because of a sprained ankle.

They made him do a few exercises, made him balance his weight on one foot each. His bad ankle could barely hold his weight. It did not look good. He could make that much out from the physio’s face though he couldn’t understand his words. But eventually he cleared the fitness test. He got on the plane back to Madrid with a lighter heart and a smile on his face.

The first thing he did when he landed back was to take his family out for dinner. They’d deserved it. After all of their sacrifices, all of their dreams for him, here he was, about to sign for one of the biggest clubs in Europe. _Yeah_ , he thought as the five of them happily sipped wine at this swanky restaurant in downtown Madrid; _this is for you_.

The next time he went out to Liverpool, it was to sign his contract. Black and white. It was done at Anfield, and couldn’t help being a bit overawed. This place had seen so much drama, so much emotion. His unveiling didn’t take place inside a packed stadium thankfully. Apparently that was not how things were done in England. There were just a handful of photographers, who clicked pictures of him holding a Liverpool shirt, of him shaking hands with Rafael Benitez. It was quick and fuss free, just how he preferred it.

This was it. He was finally a Liverpool FC player now. It took a moment to sink in. Life was about to change. Drastically. But he refused to let the panic seep in. He had the last few days of his old life in Madrid left. And he was going to make the most of them.

*****

He was out with his mates that night, painting the town red. Actually, he did not enjoy going out that much. But his friends made him, so who was he to argue? And anyway, who knew when he would get to hang out with them next? So he went with the flow. They were bar-hopping, getting more and more wasted by the hour. During a particularly wild karaoke session, Fernando felt his phone buzz. It was a text. From an English number. In English. He opened it and looked at it for a few minutes, feeling helpless. He couldn’t understand a word. He looked around. His friends’ English was as hopeless as his and anyway, even if one of them could, none were in the state to faithfully translate a message for him. Too drunk to care, he gave it up as a bad job, deciding to deal with the text tomorrow.

*****

Fernando woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and a very strong desire to puke. Only a very strong cup of black coffee was going to do the trick, he realized. Sighing, he made his way downstairs to an empty kitchen. He found Olalla’s note stuck to the kitchen. She had a class and had left without waking him. A cup of coffee and a slice of toast later, he began to feel much more like himself. He looked at the picture on the mantelpiece. It was from two years ago, when he and Olalla had gone for a holiday in Andalucía. He had his arms around her, their smiles radiant even through the smudged glass. He sighed again. It had been so perfect. Before his ambition set the cookie crumbling.

_*Three weeks ago*_

_“I have to leave Atlético,” he said desperately. “I’m stagnating here.” He couldn’t understand. He had expected her to be ecstatic, and so proud of him. Instead she just looked rather hurt when he gave her the news._

_“I have my education to complete too. I love you, but are you expecting me to give everything up and move to England with you?” Olalla’s voice was hitching, a sign that she was close to tears._

_Her words stunned Fernando. You idiot! How could you not have thought this through? He had been so happy, fidgeting counting the minutes till he got home, took her in his arms and gave her the good news._

_“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” he whispered, very close to tears himself. “No, I know I can’t expect you to shift. But I can’t give this up either. If you decide to stay back, I’ll understand. But I want you to know that I’d love for you to come.”_

_Olalla went to stay at her mother’s that night. She said she needed to think things out. Fernando didn’t stop her. He couldn’t. As he made his lonely way up to bed, he realized that they were on a precipice. And realistically, there was more chance of them falling than making it across. Fernando couldn’t sleep that night. He felt disgusted with himself. Even in his mind, he had been so selfish, so cavalier. What makes me think that my career is more important than Olalla’s? Am I turning into one of those football superstars who want to be waited on hand and foot? These questions haunted him well into the night. At last, he managed to fall in a disturbed slumber._

_He walked down next morning, tired and slightly irritated. He found Olalla in kitchen, making her usual cup of tea, humming some pop ballad softly and slightly out of tune. Hearing his footsteps, she turned around and smiled. This entire sequence of events was so familiar, so reassuring, that for a moment Fernando wondered if he had been dreaming about yesterday’s argument._

_“I’ve decided,” she announced, without beating about the bush. “I’m moving to England with you! I think I can manage college part-time. I’ll have to have a word with my administrator, but I think it can be managed. This way, we’ll live at Liverpool and I can fly back to Madrid for assignments and exams.”_

_Fernando couldn’t believe this. She had a solution to their problem! And she had figured it out in one night. And all he had done was to wallow is self-pity and self-loathing._

_“Wha-! Are you sure! That’s great, mí amor.”_

_They spent the next ten delightful minutes showing exactly how much they loved each other. Until Olalla pulled away giggling, saying she was already running late to college and that they would pick this up when she got back._

_“I love you,” he called as she picked up her keys and walked into the hallway._

_“Love you more,” and he heard the door slam._

_Fernando sat down at the dining table with his two slices of toast and a cup of coffee, the sun shining down on his life again. Only when he had come down from his euphoric high did he begin to wonder if he had imagined the immense sacrifice behind Olalla’s eyes when she spoke to him about the shifting._

Fernando sighed again as he took his eyes off the picture. Even as he was celebrating his move to Liverpool, guilt kept gnawing away at his heart.

_What right do I have to drag Olalla away from her hometown, her family, her friends and her beloved university?_

Pushing that thought aside, he started to get ready for training before he realized that he didn’t have to go anymore. He suddenly began to feel empty. What was he supposed to do with his morning now? Ruefully, he decided to make himself useful and get down to some packing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For, those of you following this story, sorry for taking so long. But chapter 2 is here. Tell me how you like it.

Fernando’s first few days in England were difficult. He was terrified of answering the phone, he was terrified of walking into a shop, and he was terrified of being judged for being so obviously foreign. Luckily, he had Olalla at his side, so he didn’t feel so alone. But Olalla could afford to stay at home. He had to go to training.

On his first day, he walked into Melwood, feeling unaccountably shy. _You’ve been here before. Stop being such a coward._ When he began training, he began to feel better. Here was something he could do without understanding English, without being judged for being a foreigner.

Fernando’s English lessons were going well, but he didn’t know how he would have coped without his Spanish teammates for those first few days. They had to translate everything for him. It was embarrassing because it made him feel like an extremely dim-witted child.

Probably the most embarrassing moment came when the captain, the great Steven Gerrard himself came over to his table in the canteen to personally welcome him to the club.

“Hello,” said a low voice behind him. Scouse, thought Fernando. He had lived enough in Liverpool to atleast start recognizing the accent. He turned to find his new captain smiling at him. It was friendly, welcoming and made him feel more at home than anything else he had encountered since he had arrived in Liverpool.

“Good morning,” he replied with the only English phrase he knew that was appropriate in the circumstances. Gerrard’s smile grew knowing. It was as if he knew that that was the extent of Fernando’s English expertise.  Fernando scratched his neck awkwardly.  His captain started speaking and he felt lost. He soon lost himself in this own thoughts.

_This man is one of the best players in the world and here he is chatting away with me as if I were his oldest friend._

_He’s so tall. Almost as tall as I am. And so graceful in training._

_He’s got nice eyes. So kind. And I love the way they crinkle at the corners when he smiles. And he looks like he might be a lot of fun too._

Steven had stopped talking, and was discreetly coughing to get his attention. Fernando came crashing down to reality. His cheeks were feeling uncomfortably hot. He couldn’t believe he was blushing. _Now._ When someone was trying to have perfectly civilized conversation with him. _Keep it together Nando. You can fanboy over him when you get home. Think of a reply._

“S-sorry,” he stammered. “I-I do not understand.” It was one of the first things his language coaches had taught him.

Steven simply smiled at him, gave him a friendly pat on the back and walked out of the room.  Feeling rather rattled, Fernando decided he might as well leave too.

*****

Fernando soon settled in Liverpool. Bit by bit, he started liking the city. It was small, compact with well-knit neighbourhoods, unlike his big and sprawling hometown. His English improved dramatically within the next few weeks. His progress surprised everybody, including himself. As his English improved, so did his relationship with the non-Spanish-speaking members of the squad.

Training quickly became the best part of his day. Every morning, he couldn’t wait to get to Melwood and get stuck into whatever exercises and drills the coaches had planned for them. He soon realized that the quality of Liverpool was many notches higher than what he was used to at Atlético. Everyone seemed to read each others’ minds on the pitch, everyone was professional and every single person was committed to one and only one thing: winning matches.

He loved his team, he really did. They made him feel at home, they were cheerful, hardworking and always up for a laugh. And they were bloody sensational footballers. But a few weeks into the season, Fernando realized that Steven Gerrard was something special. While playing, he seemed to know his mind before he himself knew, even when they barely knew each other. He _makes me a better player, and I make him a better one_ , he thought one sunny afternoon in London, when he had scored yet another goal, off yet another Gerrard pass and a few seconds later, found his arms full of an uninhibited Scouser, screaming with joy right in his ear.

*****

Fernando was in a rare good mood when he let himself into his house that night. The house was in darkness, Olalla being in Madrid. Humming a tune to himself, he switched on the light. The room in front of him was full of cardboard boxes, some open, some still closed and some with their contents hanging out. His cheery mood evaporating rapidly, he swore using a new English word he had learnt and walked into the kitchen. The kitchen was in a better condition, atleast the fridge and the cabinets weren’t empty. He made himself a quick meal from last night’s leftover pasta and some takeaway from the night before and ate it at the kitchen counter alone. He could have gone to the living room, switched on the TV and got on with his English practice, but he couldn’t stand those goddamn boxes. Not after such a tiring day.

He dumped his plate in the sink, thinking that he couldn’t be bothered to load the dishwasher right now. After a quick shower, he got into bed, wishing Olalla was with him. He looked at his phone. _No messages._ He frowned. Olalla hadn’t called or texted since she had landed in Madrid on Friday, which was most unlike her. _Hey, how are you? How did the exam go?_ He quickly sent her the text and put the phone down.

Despite how tired and sleepy he was, Fernando kept tossing and turning in the dark waiting for the phone to buzz. It didn’t. He rolled around and found himself on Olalla’s side of the bed. He caught a whiff of her scent on her pillow, and suddenly he felt wide awake. As if of its own volition, his right hand slipped though his pants. Fernando groaned at the contact, not realizing before how much he had needed this tonight. It didn’t take very long. A couple of minutes of his groaning and fumbling, and he had added another item to his to-do list of tomorrow morning: changing the sheets.

As he felt sleep overtake him, he couldn’t help realizing that even with Olalla’s scent on the pillow; the smell in his brain was that of wet grass and fresh sweat, something he did not associate with Olalla at all. He hadn’t been thinking about Olalla’s warm brown eyes, he had been thinking about baby blue eyes which crinkled with laughter every time he made a hash of those confusing idioms and phrases, or when he tried to copy the Scouse accent and failed miserably.  Smiling slightly to himself, Fernando finally fell asleep.


End file.
